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Gold Fire 5
Gold Fire 5 is an encounter in Kingdom Aflame. Enemies * Theadric (Kingdom Aflame) (400 Gold, 400 XP, 400 Energy, 1 HP) Transcript Introduction "Smash it," Theadric said. Whooping rebels converged on the platform from every corner of the square, and laid into it with hammers, maces, axes, and even their boots. Some yearned for violence and wanton destruction. Despite all the day's killing, the butchery that had painted Ralmarthan's streets and rooftops red, there was still enough rage and violence left in their breasts -- yearning to be unleashed. Perhaps their bloodlust would never be sated until the whole kingdom was crimson. Others called out the names of Murgh and Warred, the men who'd died on that grim stage, and extracted the last piece of justice and vengeance for those fallen comrades. To the hollow-eyed Ralmarthians they were no different. Motives were meaningless, the savagery they incited identical. "Fire!" Theadric said. "Set it alight!" Mages came forward, hands blazing. Reflected flames and inner pyromania flickered in their eyes. Long streams of fire gave birth to swarms of hungry children. The conflagration bathed rebels and Ralmarthians with its heat, until sweat dampened every brow. Warriors cheered the fire as though it too was a victor. A comrade invoked to share their moment of triumph, a god to nourish with prayers and offerings. Some danced around the flames like shamans -- spewing forth profanities instead of holy chants. Theadric watched them for a while, letting fire and frenzy rise. Then he went to the inferno, plunged a torch into its maw, and held it above his head. Rebels returned the salute with raised weapons or burning wood of their own. "Death to Crenus!" the hero said. He turned and hurled the torch. It spun end over end, a wheel of acrobatic fire, and flew through an open window. "Burn Ralmarthan!" Theadric grabbed another torch. "Burn it all!" Perhaps some of the rebels balked, or even called for him to stop. Later many would tell themselves they'd done so. They'd hold on to that truth or lie till the day they died. But if so, their voices were lost in the triumphant roars of man and flame. *** "Terracles and Count Siculus," Kimon said. "Terracles!" Carmath said. "His father's a god. Siculus was just a warlord with fangs." "Lord Tyranthius and the Red Prince," Symric said. "The Red Prince wins," Carmath said. "He waged war across Tor'gyyl. Think of all the different enemies he fought." "The Red Prince won his battles with armies," Ranlatta said. "Tyranthius fought in more single-combats. And he killed a demon with his spear. I say Tyranthius wins." The soldiers argued for some minutes, citing evidence both scholarly and dubious as the mood took them. "I've got one!" Kimon said. "King Crenus or Sir Marcus of Fallows?" The others fell silent. Kimon blinked at them. "What?" "My money would be on the Bronze Man," Crenus said from behind him. Kimon's face went pale. "Sorry, sire! I..." "Messenger! Messenger!" The shout echoed through the camp, saving them all from the awkwardness of a tortured explanation. A missive ended up in Ranlatta's hand seconds later -- shoved there by a panting elf. And in less than a minute other cries rang across the fires and tents. "Ralmarthan!" "They're attacking Ralmarthan!" "Grab your weapons!" *** "No!" The young cleric held out his hands. "Please!" The rebel knocked him aside and threw a firebrand into the temple of Rassys. Other Ralmarthians, devotees of the goddess or else merely unable to endure such terrible vandalism, hurled themselves at the invaders. First they were kicked and pummeled. Then steel flashed, and a woman lay in a pool of blood. All over the city its people tried to protect their homes or shops. And the rebels showed them what happened when unarmed citizens clashed with warriors. Meanwhile the fire spread across the roofs, down the streets, around the square the two sides had fought and died for. Plumes of smoke strangled the sky. And everywhere the stench of burning lives, the crackle of greedy flames, made Ralmarthians scream and their conquerors revel. Nevis stood in the square, staring at the city's annihilation. "Here, lad! Burn them! Burn everything!" The man shoved a torch at him with such insistence that he had to seize hold of it or have his face set aflame, then ran off -- brandishing his own firebrand. The boy tossed it away, onto the bonfire. In the distance steel clanged against steel. Some of the Ralmarthians must have seized weapons, and were renewing the battle. Maybe they'd take some of the rebels down with them. Nevis didn't know whether he was glad or sorry for that. Theadric grinned nearby. A demon lord in the center of his own private hell, his glorious inferno. "You bastard!" Mayor Tarringan leapt at him, swinging her fists. "You stinking sack of-" He grabbed her neck with one hand and squeezed. His broad forearm bulged, driving his thumb into the soft center of her throat, crushing breath and life from her feeble body. Her mouth gaped, making no sound except for a soft grinding splutter. Hortensia's hands slapped against Theadric's arm. "Let her go!" Nevis shoved him. But his boyish strength couldn't budge the sturdy warrior. "Get off her!" Theadric backhanded him and sent him reeling. Nevis clasped his stinging cheek, while the world wobbled. The mayor's face was changing color. Turning red. Incinerated by the raging flames that devoured her city. Nevis drew his dagger and slashed. The bully cried out, a wordless sound of shock and wrath. A long slash dribbled crimson down his arm. The mayor fell from his grasp and collapsed in a heap. Theadric lashed out with a kick, smashing the heel of his boot into Nevis' solar plexus. The boy flew backwards and hit the ground with a hard thud. His ribcage felt shattered, a collection of smashed bones floating above his organs. Theadric towered over him, eyes twin infernos. His sword was in his hands, a length of fiery steel. Conflagrations swam in its depths. "No!" Nevis wailed. "Wait!" The burning blade flashed. Conclusion Steel rang on steel, a long, crisp note that drowned out the screams, shouts, and crackling fire. Nevis gazed at the locked blades, bewildered by the suddenness of his salvation. A warrior in golden armor loomed above him. An aureate god. He shoved Theadric back and moved between the rebel and the boy. The bully lunged, bellowing like a minotaur, slashing and thrusting. The gold warrior met each attack. Their blades sang again, and again, and again. A symphony of steel. Nevis stared, sights, sounds, and thoughts swirling together in his brain. It was impossible. Theadric was an amazing swordsman. Maybe the best in their camp, unless the Kasan was his superior. Yet the man in gold plate matched him blow for blow. Just as fast, as strong, as skilled, and as fearless. The boy noticed the shape of his pauldrons for the first time. Gold dragons... He was one of the king's soldiers! The enemy! And he was saving Nevis' life. Theadric was desperate now. Blood leaked down his arm, raining crimson droplets with every swing. It sapped his strength, while his foe was untiring, relentless. The bully roared and pivoted, twisting away from an attack and launching a counter. They twirled together like two murderous dancers. Theadric's blade chopped down at the gold warrior's head. The man's forearm shot upwards, blocking Theadric's wrists. He jerked his entire body forward, bringing the crown of his head crashing down on the bully's nose. It crunched and spurted long streams of blood. His sword hand drove at Theadric's chin. The blow snapped his head back and sent him spinning -- straight into the fire. Theadric lay and burned amidst the wood and flame, fuel for its immense conflagration. *** "Kasan! Kasan!" You leap up from the campfire and stare at the newcomer, not even trying to hide your eagerness. You recognize her. It's Kel, Carloyn's quartermaster. Her single eye fastens on you. "Do you have news?" you ask. "From Ralmarthan?" Everyone else is staring too. The entire camp's gathering round, desperate to know what's happened at the city. Some of the scouts brought word of a column of smoke on the horizon. Only you know what that portends, and even you aren't certain what will come of the stratagem. "I have a message..." She brandishes a rolled up piece of parchment. "From the king!" A great cry goes up. "What?" You grab it from her hand. "How..." "They took me in Ralmarthan..." At this there's another cry, and a barrage of questions from every quarter. But Kel's eye stays on you alone. "He's sent out rebel prisoners in all direction, telling us to find you. To bring you that." You examine the seal. It's true -- that's the crest of the Seluthas. The dragon gazes at you from red wax. It gives way and the parchment unfurls, bearing the amazing message from the monarch of West Kruna. --- %name% Kasan, No one else will suffer like the people of Ralmarthan did. We settle this, you and I. Single-combat. Name the place. Crenus Selutha --- You read the message aloud, and this time the din is cataclysmic. "Bring me a quill and ink! Hurry!" One of the clerics runs to you, pack in hand, and passes you an inky feather. You take it from him and write your answer below the king's name. The rebels read it over your shoulder, and the babble intensifies until it becomes a cheer. --- Burden's Rest. --- Category:Kingdom Aflame